


Honor-Bound

by K_Hanna_Korossy



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2015-09-15
Packaged: 2018-04-18 03:26:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4690409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K_Hanna_Korossy/pseuds/K_Hanna_Korossy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hutch witnesses a case of police brutality and is determined to do something about it, even if it costs him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Honor-Bound

Written: 2001

First published in "A Small Circle of Friends 8" (2003 

Based on the Adam-12 episode, “Badge Heavy”

"So, Terrick, what'd your mommy pack you for lunch today?"

     The taunting voice carried the length of the police locker room and Starsky glanced up from his own locker to see what reaction it got.  The subject of the teasing was a few lockers down, the newest detective in the Special Units Division and thus the butt of most of the jokes and pranks for a time.  Especially Detective Larry Padgett's.

     Keith Terrick also looked up, no humor in his expression.  "No, my girlfriend did.  How about you, Larry?  Your wife or your girlfriend pack your lunch?"

     Starsky stifled a smile.  He liked the new kid, especially after riding along with him for a few weeks while Hutch had been laid up with a broken leg, and would have come to his defense if needed, but Terrick seemed to be able to give as good as he got.

     Not that that daunted Padgett.  He sauntered down from the far end of the locker room to park himself next to Terrick's locker, his broad face alight with mischievous glee.  Ignoring the younger detective's barb, he cheerfully asked, "Your girlfriend, huh?  Where do you take her, to the Senior Prom?"

     Starsky hadn't thought of Terrick as particularly young, not in comparison to a lot of the fresh faces he saw in uniform, but he could see where the ribbing came from.  The newbie had a kid's face and could pass as a teenage dealer or buyer if needed, even though he was nearing thirty and already had years of street experience.  Starsky glanced quickly again at Terrick, curious to see the young detective's response.

     Terrick closed his locker door carefully before turning to Padgett, holster still in his hand.  "You jealous, Larry?" he asked with forced pleasantness, swinging the holster over his shoulders.

     And he lost his advantage when the holster settled in place, the gun hanging nearly to his hips instead of snug against his chest like it was supposed to.  It looked like a kid trying on his dad's equipment – no doubt exactly how Padgett had intended it.

     The room broke into laughter, Starsky only sparing a small smile.  A glance at his partner next to him revealed Hutch was no more amused, making a face at Starsky.  Then again, Padgett had rubbed Hutch the wrong way from the day the two had met.  Hutch considered him a blowhard, and while Starsky hadn't disagreed, Larry bothered him a lot less.  And who was he to criticize someone for the way they worked off steam?

     But the pranks at Keith's expense were getting a little old, and Starsky watched the two men out of the corner of his eye as he finished dressing and slipped into his own holster.

     Terrick pulled off the holster with stiff motions, and Larry, still laughing, produced the right holster from behind his back and offered it to the young detective.  Terrick silently switched his Beretta and dropped the oversized holster at Larry's feet.

     Larry didn't mind.  Chortling, he collected the holster and walked out of the locker room, slapping the back of another laughing detective with shared humor as he went.

     The locker room cleared quickly, leaving only Starsky and Hutch and Terrick, who was finishing the adjustments on his holster.  Starsky picked up his jacket and closed his locker door, stepping over to Terrick.  For all the kid's poise, there was resentment in his eyes and his face was flushed.

     "You handled yourself good.  Just don't let him get to ya – Larry's just a joker, he doesn't mean any harm."

     Terrick was still staring at the door Padgett had left by, and he shook his head a little.  "It's not that.  I can handle the jokes."

     Starsky frowned, hearing his partner step up behind him.  "What then?"

     Terrick hesitated, fishing his own jacket out before shutting the locker door.  "Look . . . just forget it.  I can handle it."

     Starsky stopped his walking out with a mild upraised hand.  "What's goin' on, Keith?" he asked more seriously.

     The kid's gaze swept the room before returning to Starsky.  "I think I saw him do something."

     "Like what?"

     "Like beat up a guy he was arresting.  He didn't know I was there, but he already had the cuffs on this guy and he sucker-punched him, hard."

     Hutch moved up next to Starsky and spoke up quietly.  "That's a pretty serious accusation, Keith.  You sure you saw what you saw?"  It wouldn't have been the first time a rookie had thought they'd seen something they hadn't.

     Terrick sucked in a breath and shook his head.  "That's why it's not an accusation.  I'm pretty sure, but I'm the new kid on the block and we both know 'pretty sure' isn't enough."

     Starsky slowly nodded.  "Okay.  Well, you keep an eye out and Hutch an' me will, too.  If he's badge-heavy, we'll get him."

     "Starsky, I've only been here a couple of months.  I make a report about something like that and I won't be here long enough to finish out my first year."  Terrick shook his head.  "I don't like having a dirty cop on the streets any more than you do, but I'm not ready to stick my neck out for something like this.  I'm sorry."

     Starsky made a face, but he could understand.  He and Hutch had been pretty fearless from the moment they'd arrived in Dobey's unit, but then, they'd gotten into a lot of trouble, too.  And they had each other to get in trouble with.  He couldn't blame the kid for not wanting to risk it alone.  He just nodded, giving Keith's shoulder a pat as the young detective passed him and left the locker room.

     Hutch was already looking at him as Starsky met his gaze.  "What do ya think?" he asked the blond.

     "I think Larry Padgett's trouble, that's what I think."

     "Keith's a good kid, has a good head on his shoulders.  If he said he saw it, I believe him."

     "I do, too, but if he doesn't want to make a report, what're we supposed to do about it?"

     Starsky shrugged.  Point taken.  There was no use worrying about it right then, anyway.  A grin slid onto his face instead.

     Hutch was already wary.  "What?" he asked suspiciously.

     "You know what day it is today?"

     "Tuesday," Hutch answered promptly.

     "'Sides that."

     "You want the date?"  Hutch moved back to his own locker, checking his hair one last time before he put his own jacket on.

     "Nope."  Starsky had followed him and just stood, beaming.

     Hutch stopped and stared, forehead creased.  "I give up.  What day is it?"

     "Fat Tuesday.  Party time.  I figured my place, starting 'bout eight. . ."

     Hutch's eyes widened.  "Fat Tu–  Starsky, that's a Catholic holiday."

     A shrug.  "So?"

     "So, you're Jewish!"

     "And?  That mean I can't throw a party?"

     Hutch threw up his hands, turning to leave.  "I give up." 

     Starsky trailed along, his smugness wavering.  "Hey, you're still gonna come, right?  Hutch?     Hutch. . ."

     They hadn't even been out fifteen minutes when the call came – a 240A.  Starsky and Hutch glanced at each other.  There wasn't really a 240A; a 240 was an assault, but the latest crime spree had mandated development of a new code number to identify it.  How else were you supposed to refer to someone who went around with a pair of scissors and cut chunks out of people's hair?  Hutch shook his head and Starsky poured on the speed to catch the guy before he could disappear on them again.

     The address cited in the radio report turned out to be a bank, and Starsky went inside to talk to the customers and manager while Hutch checked around outside.  Nothing out of the ordinary.  How could a guy who kept attacking people with a pair of scissors keep fading into the crowd?

     A man in a hat and trenchcoat sat at the nearby bus stop, reading, and Hutch approached him.  Maybe they at least could find a witness.

     "Sir?"

     The man squinted up at him through small, round glasses.  "Yes?"

     Hutch flipped open his ID.  "Detective Hutchinson, LAPD.  We're looking for a man who may have assaulted someone nearby a few minutes ago.  Did you notice anyone or anything suspicious?"

     The man pursed his lips, thinking, then shook his head.  "I'm sorry, Detective, but I've been reading the paper and didn't notice much of anything at all."

     Hutch nodded cheerlessly, then leaned closer as something in the paper caught his eye.  "Hey, did you see this article here?  It's about the man we're looking for, can you believe that?"

     The businessman's eyebrows climbed as he turned to the back of the newspaper.  "Really?"

     "Yeah.  Say, if you don't mind, I'd like to keep that."

     "Uh, well, no. . ."

     "I don't want to take your whole newspaper, though.  You wouldn't have a pair of scissors on you by any chance, would you?"

     "Actually. . ."  The man fumbled with his briefcase a moment and then held up a pair of orange-handled shears.  "Like this?"

     Exactly like those.  Hutch suppressed a smile, giving first the shears, then the man a pointed glance.

     Realization dawned on the man's face and the shears sagged.  "Guess that was pretty dumb, huh?"

     Hutch just shook his head and reached for the cuffs.  Eight years on the job and the stupidity of the average felon still took him by surprise.  Hey, at least it made their job easier.

     Starsky came out just as he was finishing putting the cuffs on their mad barber, and Hutch grinned at his partner's expression.

     " **This** is the guy?"

     "Yup."

     "How'd you find him?"  Starsky was the picture of disbelief.

     "Good old-fashioned detective work."

     Starsky gave him a "yeah, right" look and went to call it in, then returned to address Hutch's prisoner.  "Hey, why'd you do it?"

     "I always wanted to be a hairstylist," the man said meekly.

     "What do you do now?" Starsky asked, confused.

     "I'm an accountant."

     "So why didn't you become a hairstylist?"

     "My parents would never have approved."

     Starsky rolled his eyes.  "I'm sure they're gonna love havin' a jailbird son a lot more."  He glanced at Hutch, silently asking, _Do you believe this guy?_

Hutch just shrugged back.  There wasn't a lot he wouldn't believe anymore, but Starsky always seemed surprised at the genuinely strange things they came across in their job.  For all of his partner's lack of innocence, he could be refreshingly naïve sometimes. In a strange way, it helped Hutch feel like there were still a few untouched purities in his world.  God knew his own innocence wasn't one of them.

     A black-and-white arrived to take the would-be hairstylist in, and Hutch shook off the melancholy train of thought to rejoin his partner in the Torino.

     They had just climbed in when the request for assistance came.  Another zebra unit, in pursuit of a 211 suspect.  Starsky started the car and they went to help.

     The unit turned out to be Padgett's and his partner of a few months, 'Tino del Moral.  Hutch recognized Padgett's gray Chevy as they pulled up behind the other unmarked car.  At the same moment, Padgett and del Moral bailed out in pursuit of two men dashing from their own vehicle.  Starsky screeched up to the curb, letting Hutch out and then taking off to trap del Moral's suspect between the other detective and the Torino.  Hutch didn't stay to watch, racing toward the corner Padgett and his suspect had disappeared around.

     The two running men were already halfway down the block.  There was no point in chasing after them from that far behind, so Hutch glanced around for a shortcut.  The alley a few buildings down seemed to provide one, and he took off that way, into the alley and then behind the streetfront row of stores.  He re-emerged on the street that crossed the one Padgett and the suspect had been going down, just in time to see the other detective in the shelter of an alcove between two stores, slapping cuffs on the teenage suspect.  And then, with no one around to see it, the detective shoved the suspect hard into the brick wall of one store.  The teenager crumpled to the ground without a sound.

     "Padgett!"

     The detective looked up at Hutch's call, surprise and momentary displeasure quickly disappearing behind a smile as Hutch dashed over.  "Hutchinson!  When'd you get here?  I could have used the help a minute ago – the kid really put up a fight."

     "Yeah, I saw just what kind of a fight he put up, Larry," Hutch said coolly, crouching beside the unconscious suspect and gently turning his head.  An ugly cut on his head oozed blood down the side of his face, but his vitals were good and his pupils seemed fine.  Still . . . Hutch looked sharply up at Padgett.  "I'll stay with him.  Go call an ambulance."

     "Oh, come on, he's fine, just a little roughed up."

     Hutch stood so abruptly, Padgett automatically took a step back.  "Call an ambulance," he repeated.

     "Hutch, he's fine.  You saw what he did – he was resisting arrest.  I had to show him who was boss."  Padgett had spread his hands wide, placatingly.

     Hutch was having none of it.  "You can tell Dobey all about how a handcuffed teenager was resisting so hard that you had to slam him headfirst into a wall.  Right now, you go call an ambulance or I swear, I'm gonna cuff you to this lamp post and go call one myself."

     Padgett's smile disappeared, his expression going dark.  He apparently rethought any argument he was about to give, however, giving Hutch a scowl before he wheeled around and strode off, back toward the cars.

     Hutch took a deep breath, then pulled out his handkerchief to try to staunch the flow of blood.

     Jogging footsteps sounded a minute later, and Hutch frowned.  Padgett shouldn't have been back so fast, and if he hadn't made the call, so help him. . .

     But it was Starsky who came into view, face clearing minutely as he caught sight of his partner, and he came over, leaning down to inspect what Hutch was doing.

     "Padgett?" he asked quietly.

     Hutch nodded tersely.

     "You saw it?"

     Another nod.  He glanced up to meet his partner's eyes, so different from Padgett's cold brown ones.  These shared his anger and disgust, and warmed with feeling as they looked at him.

     "That means you can report it," Starsky offered, half-asking.

     "I plan to."

     His partner crouched down to be at eye level with him.  "You know what else that means.  Padgett's got a lot of friends, and cops don't like it when one of them turns another in."

"You saying I should ignore this?" Hutch asked impatiently.

     "No," Starsky answered, calm as he often was when Hutch was keyed up.  "I'm sayin' we need to be ready for things to get a little nasty for a while.  And we need to be careful.  I'm gonna have to watch your back more than usual."

     Hutch's tension boiled away.  It wasn't a surprise his partner would side with him, even if it was against the whole department.  He offered Starsky a small, faintly apologetic smile.  "Tell me something I don't know."

     "Meerkats post a sentinel when they're eatin' to warn the other meerkats if an enemy comes."

     Hutch blinked.  He hadn't meant . . . he shook his head.  Never mind.

     Starsky gave his shoulder a friendly pat as he stood to direct the arriving ambulance.

     How did other people manage without a Starsky in their life?

     It was another hour before they pulled into the station.  After waiting for the ambulance to take their teenage patient away, Hutch had hung around to make sure the other suspect got safe passage back to the station before letting Starsky take him somewhere to clean up.  A nearby store willingly let him use their private facilities, and Starsky had waited outside the door as Hutch washed the kid's blood off his hands.  He'd wearily turned down Starsky's offer of lunch, then ended up eating half his partner's fries on the way back to the station.  Starsky, for once, didn't complain.  There were all sorts of ways of looking after your partner.

     Now, he leaned against the wall in the corner of Dobey's office, as unobtrusive as possible as he chewed on his burger and listened to Hutch fill their boss in on what had happened.

     Dobey shifted position, chair creaking, when Hutch finished.  "So you're saying Padgett willfully assaulted a suspect he already had in custody when the suspect wasn't even resisting?"

     "That's what happened," Hutch nodded.

     The captain sat back and looked at Hutch thoughtfully.  "You realize what a serious charge this is, Hutchinson?  If the Board agrees with you, Padgett could lose his badge, even face criminal charges."

     Hutch shook his head.  "Cap'n, I don't want to get anyone in trouble, but I know what I saw."

     Dobey's gaze strayed to Starsky, then back to Hutch, and Starsky quickly swallowed his bite, suspecting he'd have to jump in in a minute.  "Seems to me the two of you have had some similar complaints made against you over the years," the captain continued.

     Hutch flushed, shoulders tightening, and Starsky spoke up before his partner could explode.  "Cap'n, we've had to strong arm a few guys, yeah, but not after they were cuffed and in custody.  That's just plain unconscionable brutality."  Hutch cast him a surprised glance and Starsky flashed him a grin.  He could use big words too, sometimes.

     Hutch's answering grin was a little watered down, as it had been in the alley, and lasted only until Dobey spoke again.

     "I agree," he said unexpectedly.  "Truth is, I've heard some rumors about Padgett before, but nobody's filed a report.  I'll pass this on to I.A. and let you know what happens."

     And that was it.  Starsky straightened, sharing another glance with his partner as Hutch stood and, with a quiet, "Thanks, Cap'n," left Dobey's office, Starsky right behind him.

     They stood in the hallway, inches from each other as they often seemed to.  Starsky didn't even notice the proximity anymore except when someone mentioned it.  He just made a face at his partner as Hutch borrowed his burger for a bite.

     "I guess that's it for now," Hutch said around the mouthful of food.

     And they said he was the slob.  Starsky mentally shook his head.  "For now.  You ready to get back to work?"

     "Yeah."

     "Okay.  I'm gonna run down for a drink and some pie first – you want anything?"

     Hutch shook his head, taking another bite of Starsky's burger.  "I'll meet you at the car."

     Starsky gave up the burger as a lost cause.  He'd get another one of those downstairs, too.  "Be right there," he promised, and left Hutch eating in the hallway.

     That was his partner, sense of injustice all fired up one minute, stealing burgers the next.  But he'd seen Hutch's eyes and knew how hard this was for the blond.  Starsky was disgusted by abusive cops, but for Hutch it was like a personal betrayal.  And in a way, it was – every badge-heavy or dirty cop made their job that much harder, tarnished their reputation that much more.  It wouldn't hurt to keep an extra eye on Hutch for a while.  And not just because Starsky had a feeling Larry Padgett wouldn't go down so easy.

     The burger, grease and all, had hit the spot.  Hutch licked the ketchup off one finger as he turned the corner into the police garage, nearly empty that time of day.

     Almost.

     Larry Padgett suddenly stepped out in front of him, and Hutch jerked to a halt, instantly wary.  "Larry," he nodded cordially, and moved to slip around the man.

     Padgett mirrored his motion to block him.  "You did it, didn't you?  You talked to Dobey."

     Fine.  Hutch shifted his posture, standing his ground.  "I said I would."

     Padgett's grin was hard.  "Aw, Hutch, it wasn't like you think.  The kid had been struggling – almost shoved me into the wall.  I had to subdue him."

     "That what you call it?" Hutch asked coldly.

     "Come on, Hutch, you and Starsky do it all the time, too.  You have to do what you have to do.  It's not like I go around attacking people."

     "No, just the helpless ones in cuffs," Hutch shot back.

     Padgett's face colored.  "You know, accusations like that could end a guy's career, and I know you don't want that.  More than one of us could end up getting hurt."

     "Is that a threat, Larry?"

     "No, of course not."  Padgett reached out to casually brush at Hutch's jacket, but the blond recoiled from the touch.  "I'm just saying groundless accusations can hurt the accuser more than the accused, you know."

     "I'll be sure to remember that."  Hutch couldn't remember being so disgusted with too many people before.  And that it was a fellow cop just made it worse.

     "Good, good," Padgett nodded.  "See you around, Hutch."  And he walked off.

     Hutch was almost shaking with anger as he reached the Torino.

     Starsky was already inside, probably having come around the front.  One casual glance at his partner and he did a double take.  "What happened?"

     "Padgett gave me a friendly warning," Hutch said bitterly.

     "He threatened you?"

     The sudden dangerous edge in Starsky's voice startled him out of his fury; he'd unwittingly set off Starsky's own alert system.  Any threat to Hutch was high up on the list of triggers.  He managed a somewhat reassuring smile.  "Nothing I can't handle."

     Starsky wasn't completely mollified, but he got the message.  "You ready to hit the streets, then?" he asked neutrally.

     Hutch winced.  "Can't you come up with a better cliché than that?"

     His partner obliged.  "Go earn our bread.  Pound the beat.  Wear out some shoe leather."  Starsky's eyes were beginning to twinkle as he started the car.  "Walk the thin blue line.  Work our fingers to the     bone. . ."

     Hutch groaned.

     Another day, another dollar.  It would have fit right into his list of clichés the day before, Starsky thought, if he'd remembered it then.

     They were heading out to the Torino to follow up some leads on a new homicide when he snapped his fingers as if in sudden remembrance and turned to his partner.  "I'll be right back."  Leaving Hutch watching him with narrowed eyes, Starsky ran back into the building.

     He found Larry Padgett in the locker room along with a pair of detectives who glanced at Starsky and promptly left.  Good.  Starsky walked up to Padgett and stood casually, hands clasped behind his back.

     Padgett pulled his head out of his locker and, seeing Starsky, faltered for only a moment before offering a grin.  "Starsky.  Aren't you running a little late?"

     "I heard you had a talk with my partner yesterday," he said evenly.

     "Uh . . . not really.  He gave me a hand arresting that punk yesterday, but–"

     "In the garage."

     Unbelievably, Padgett's grin grew.  "Oh, that.  Yeah, we passed each other on the way.  I just said I'd hoped he hadn't gotten the wrong idea about the whole bust and how the kid got injured."  He shut his locker and started to walk past Starsky.

     Starsky's arm shot out, hitting the lockers with a force that rocked the whole row, effectively blocking Padgett's route.  His voice didn't rise.  "Sounded to me like it was a little more than that."

     Padgett's grin was slipping.  "Well, it wasn't.  If Hutch said something different, maybe you should check with your partner again.  He seems to have a faulty memory."

     Starsky leaned forward and Padgett immediately drew back but didn't walk away, held by the force of Starsky's very intense gaze.  "What you say to my partner, you say to me.  You threaten him, you threaten me.  And I don't take so well to being threatened, _capice?_ "  A slight cant of the head on the last word was more than an invitation for a response.

     "Yeah, I get it," Padgett said grudgingly.

     "That's good," Starsky approved, and without another word, walked out of the locker room.

     He found Hutch leaning against the Torino, drumming his fingers expectantly on the hood.

     "What took you so long?"

     "Forgot something," Starsky said shortly, unlocking the car.  "Don't do that."

     Hutch stopped drumming and got in, running through the pre-check before they set off for the morning.  He didn't speak up again until they'd pulled out of the garage and were headed toward their first stop.  "Did you find Larry?"

     "Larry who?"  Starsky yawned.  The party the night before had been a big success, but it had run on longer than he'd expected.  Maybe they were just getting old.

     "Come on, Starsky, don't play dumb," Hutch snapped.

     Starsky never took his gaze off the road.  "I found him."

     "And?"  Hutch's patience was clearly almost gone.

     "And," Starsky answered, peering seriously at his passenger over the top of his sunglasses, "I told him I don't like anybody messing with my partner."

     It anything, Hutch's annoyance level seemed to rise at that.  "I'm not some damsel in distress who needs protecting, Starsky."

     Starsky's mouth quirked at the image, a reaction he could sense his partner's displeasure with and quickly stifled.  "It wasn't for you, Blintz," he said instead.

     That threw Hutch, he could tell.  "What?"

     "I feel better this way, okay?  I wanted Padgett to know he'd have both of us to deal with if he tried anything else.  Maybe he'll think twice before he does."

     There was a long silence, then Hutch sighed and rubbed a hand down his face.  "I don't think it's going to be an issue, Starsk."

     He glanced at his partner again.  "What're you talking about?"

     "Dobey called me in for a minute after you left looking for Padgett.  He said I.A. was dropping the matter for 'insufficient evidence.'  The kid Padgett arrested denied everything."

     The utter weariness in his voice struck Starsky the same time his words did.  Hutch usually got mad at a dead-end like that one, not resigned.  Then again, the situation did look pretty hopeless.  He frowned.  "I wonder why the kid didn't give up Padgett?"

     A shrug from next to him.  "Maybe he doesn't remember what happened.  Or maybe he just doesn't believe anything would be done about it."

     "You sound like you're givin' up as easy as he did," Starsky deliberately baited.  He didn't particularly want to make Hutch mad, but the malaise worried him even more.  Bad cops always seemed to mess with Hutch's spirit somehow.  He'd have to figure that one out later.

     Hutch did flare at the barb.  "What do you expect me to do, offer the kid a deal so he'll . . . tell the truth. . ."  His jaw went slack.

     Starsky's gaze ping-ponged back and forth between the street and his partner.  "What? What're you–?"

     Hutch pushed himself up in the seat.  "Starsky, what if Padgett got to the kid first?"

     "You mean, offered him a deal if he covered for him?"  Starsky frowned.

     "Uh-huh.  The kid goes free, Padgett's off the hook, and everybody's happy."

     "'Cept you and me."  But the light was dawning.  Hutch had only needed a nudge to look past his funk to find it.

     "I don't know, partner," Hutch said smugly.  "I'm starting to feel better already."

     Feeling pretty good himself, Starsky began to scan the street for a phone booth to call Dobey.

     The garage had been full that morning, an annoying result of coming in late for work thanks to Starsky's party the night before.  Hutch winced at the thought.  He hadn't allowed himself to get a hangover, but he was still tired and looking forward to an early evening, and walking out and around the back of Parker to get to his car seemed an awful lot of trouble.  Idly fishing out his keys, he strained in the dim twilight to find the right one.

     He never saw the blow coming.

     The punch to his jaw sent him reeling back against the station's wall, momentary confusion and a driving flare of pain blocking all but the most basic instincts.  But even as he raised a wavering arm to ward off the attack, another fist slammed into him just below his ribs, sending him to his knees.

     He tried to draw breath and not throw up at the same time, neither effort working very well.  He couldn't seem to make his contracted lungs expand, and watched dizzily the black spots flickering between the drops of blood that splashed onto the sidewalk.

     A kick this time, although he barely registered the difference as it caught him in the side and sent him sprawling onto his face, blind with agony.  He couldn't breathe, couldn't even groan, just curled into a ball to protect his agonized body.

     A distant yell made him cringe even more tightly, even as survival instincts pushed him to regroup and fight back.  Somehow, he managed to push himself back up onto his hands and knees, head hanging as he gasped to try to fill aching lungs.

     There was a blur of bodies around him, attackers he was momentarily helpless to defend against, but they didn't seem interested in him any longer.  In fact, as his vision cleared, it looked like another person sprawled next to him, and then yet another fell with a moan.  They climbed back to their feet, out of his line of vision, and then there was the pounding of receding footsteps.

     Running.  Lucky them.  He was still trying not to lose his lunch all over the sidewalk.

     Something touched his arm and he flinched violently away, almost smacking his head into the wall as he shied.  Great, do their work for them.  He angrily shook his head, trying to clear it, and succeeded only in making it hurt worse.

     "Hutch?  Can you hear me?  Come on, buddy."

     The ringing in his ears was receding, and he could finally make out the words.

     "Hutch?  Take it easy.  It's me.  It's Starsky."

     Starsky.  Oh, thank God.  His arms went weak with relief, almost dumping him back to the ground.

     "Whoa."  A very strong grip caught him and eased his trembling mess of a body back to sit against the wall.  All he seemed to be able to focus on was a nose and the two very dark blue eyes above it, but it was enough.  It was Starsky, and he was upset.  Someone was going to be in trouble.

     Blood was dripping from his nose down over his mouth and chin, and Hutch brushed dumbly at the flow.  Something tugged at his jacket but before he could wonder about it, a bundle of cloth was pressed against his sore nose and held there to staunch the flow.

     "You're a real mess, Hutchinson," came Starsky's strained, soft voice.  "Did they hurt you anywhere else?  You need an ambulance?"

     Hutch managed a slight shake of the head, the cool brick behind him catching at his hair.  His abdomen still hurt, but with the aching throb of abused muscles and soon-to-be-spectacular bruises, not serious damage.  He rubbed absently at it with one hand, only to have Starsky gently move his hand and lift the tail of the shirt, eyeing the damage himself.  Hutch smiled tiredly.  Even when it embarrassed him, it felt good to know somebody cared.  Actually, not just cared, but really worried.

     And Starsky was.  Hutch could still feel the slight tremor of aftereffects in Starsky's hands as they checked him out, and he blinked at the worry that tightened his partner's expression.

     "I'm okay," he said stuffily.  Starsky's gaze snapped back to his face and he offered another smile, one he imagined wasn't reassuring under all the blood and bruising.  "Just winded.  And sore."  He was still catching his breath around the words.

     Starsky nodded, touching Hutch's face with his palm before returning to his examination.  A minute later, he rocked back on his heels, looking relieved.  Only the concern that lingered deep in his eyes gave sign of how scared he'd been for his partner.  "I think you're right.  You're probably gonna be a rainbow by tomorrow."

     Hutch nodded glumly, reaching up to take over what he discovered was a handkerchief wadded against his nose.  "What happened?"

     "I forgot to tell you somethin', and came outside after you to find ya on the ground and three creeps layin' into you."

     He didn't have to ask what happened to the "creeps," noticing for the first time the scrape on Starsky's cheek.  Three against one was impressive odds, but then, it really wasn't wise to make Starsky mad.

     "You sure you're okay?" Starsky fussed again, using one corner of the handkerchief to wipe what was apparently another scratch on Hutch's face.  Terrific.  He'd probably look like the survivor of a bar fight the next day.

     Not that it couldn't have been so much worse, and Starsky's lingering tension betrayed his partner's similar thoughts.  "I'll live," Hutch promised, and then slowly moved to rise.  Starsky jumped to help him and he managed to get to his feet with a single groan.  It didn't hurt so badly, but he'd be sure to be sore for days.  Even his nose had stopped bleeding, and he absently offered the handkerchief back to Starsky.

     "It's yours, dummy," Starsky pushed it back.  "Any double vision?  Stabbing pain?"

     "I'm fine, Starsky," Hutch repeated patiently, remembering the times he hadn't reacted well to Starsky getting roughed up.  "But I think . . . maybe I could use a ride home."

     Starsky snorted.  "No maybes about it."  He kept one hand very firmly on Hutch's arm, watching each step the blond took as they headed back for the garage.

     "What was it you forgot to tell me?" Hutch asked suddenly.

     "When?"  Starsky was paying attention to his movements, not his words.

     "When you came out after me.  You said you forgot to tell me something."

     "Oh."  Starsky gave him a sheepishly defiant look.  "I was gonna remind you to keep your guard up.  I don't think this thing with Padgett is done."

     Hutch raised one eyebrow, about all he could manage without pain.  "You think Padgett was involved in this?  He wasn't one of the three–"

     "No," Starsky shook his head, "but I'd bet a week's salary I know who put 'em up to it.  It's a police lot, Hutch – they were lookin' for a cop, and it would be a heck of a coincidence if they just 'happened' to have found you."

     Hutch didn't answer.  He had to admit, he didn't believe in coincidences like that any more than Starsky.  But it would be enough to think about the next day.  All he wanted to do now was soak out some of the ache in a long bath and then go to bed.

     Together, they shuffled the last bit to Starsky's car and left for Venice.

     "You were right, Hutchinson."

     Dobey seemed to be trying not to look at the detective, after his initial under-the-breath exclamation at seeing Hutch that morning.  Starsky wasn't surprised.  His partner hadn't cleaned up well, and the night's rest had only given him a chance to stiffen up and his bruises to blossom.  One teasing reference to Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer and his partner hadn't spoken to him the rest of the way in.

     Hutch looked like he was trying to forget the whole thing.  "No kidding, Cap'n," he answered his boss with unusual sarcasm.  Starsky didn't let himself smile and risk drawing Dobey's wrath onto himself.

     "I mean," Dobey continued with determined patience, "Padgett went to the prison ward with some excuse yesterday and one of the nurses said she saw him talking to the suspect he'd arrested.  I.A. had a chat with the kid yesterday afternoon, let him know they'd figured out his little deal with Padgett, and turns out you were right.  Padgett offered to change his testimony in exchange for the kid covering for him."  The captain rubbed at the side of his head.  Starsky could guess how much it bothered him to know one of his men was crooked.  "I.A. has already scheduled a trial board.  Hutchinson, you'll be called to testify."

     Hutch nodded, shifting a little uncomfortably.  Starsky had coaxed him out for a walk that morning to limber up, but he already looked as if he were stiffening up again.  Starsky leaned toward the captain's desk.

     "That all, sir?"

     "Not quite, Starsky."  Dobey shuffled papers, then seemed to decide to take the plunge and looked up, meeting Hutch's eyes.  "You're sure this attack yesterday had something to do with Padgett?"

     Starsky answered that one.  "Pretty sure.  Heck of a coincidence, wouldn't you say, Cap'n?"

     Dobey grimaced.  "Unfortunately, I would.  I.A. will also be investigating that.  I'm sorry this had to happen, Hutch.  We didn't have the proof yesterday to do anything about Padgett yet."

     Hutch's sour expression softened.  "That's okay, sir, I didn't think Padgett would go this far, either."  A silent glance at Starsky both credited the brunet's foresight and apologized for doubting him, and Starsky shook it off as unnecessary.  Neither of them was right all the time, hence the idea of partnerships in the first place.  Besides, they always seemed to see each other more clearly than they did themselves.

     Dobey dismissed them with a wave, and Starsky waited while Hutch pushed himself up out of the chair with a wince.  They went out into the hall together.

     And ran straight into Padgett and several other detectives just going on duty.

     Starsky took a step forward and Hutch's hand instantly took hold of his wrist, silently warning him to keep his cool.

     Padgett didn't get the hint.  "Hutch!  What happened to you?  You look like you ran into a wall."

     "Ran into a little welcoming committee outside in the parking lot yesterday, Larry.  I don't suppose you'd know anything about that?" Hutch asked icily.

     Padgett managed to look both concerned and hurt.  "Hey, that's terrible.  Are you okay?  I hope you don't think I could've had something to do with that."

     "I guess we'll find out, won't we?" Hutch answered, and began to push past.  "Excuse us, we're late for duty."

     "Oh, now, Hutch, you're not going to let a little thing like this misunderstanding come between us, are you?  I mean, that would be pretty silly, just because you thought I did something I didn't do.  I'm sure you meant well."

     Hutch didn't answer, staring back at him stonily.  Starsky stood at his partner's side and silently dared Padgett to keep digging his own grave.

     Incredibly, he did.  "Aw, come on now, guys, let's just be friends.  No harm done, right?"

     "Nobody's buyin' it anymore, Larry," Starsky said softly.

     "Oh, I get it," Padgett laughed.  "This is because I was picking on your trainee, right, Starsky?  Terrick?  Well, that's no reason to blow this whole thing out of proportion.  I'll tell him I'm sorry, okay?"

     Hutch could have been carved from a boulder, non-reactive, unmoving.  He didn't give second chances easily, not to those who had betrayed him, and Larry Padgett had been permanently removed from Hutch's good graces.  Starsky almost winced at his partner's flat expression.  It was a hardness he didn't usually see in the blond, even on the street.

     And it was making Larry Padgett sweat.  "Come on, Hutch, say something.  I told you, it's all just a misunderstanding.  We don't have to let it mess everything up."  Still no answer, and Padgett finally lost his cool.  He reached for Hutch's arm.  "I said–"

     Starsky moved without thinking, in between Padgett and his partner, deflecting Padgett's reach, only to feel Hutch gently but firmly push him aside to face Padgett himself.

     "What do you want, Larry?"

     The detective regained his grin, albeit a shakier version.  "I just want us to be friends.  There's no reason to make this so difficult."

     "I wasn't the one who shoved that kid into the wall," Hutch said, and he turned again to leave.

     Padgett reached for him again, and before Starsky's patience died altogether, Hutch had the man up against the wall, one arm braced against the detective's chest, face inches away from Padgett's.  Even Starsky could barely hear his words, all the colder for their lack of volume.

     "If you touch me, or Starsky, one more time, Padgett, you're going to be attending your trial board with your arm in a sling, you got that?"

     Padgett swallowed, hard, and nodded.

     Hutch slowly backed off.  Starsky couldn't imagine the aggressive movement hadn't hurt his healing partner like crazy, but there was no sign of it in the steel-blue eyes.

     Padgett turned to the other detectives watching the scene uneasily.  "You know how it is.  A punk tries to resist, you gotta show him who's boss.  It wasn't anything any of the rest of you haven't done."

     One of the detectives, Eney, turned and walked away, shaking his head.

     "Aw, come on, guys, you know me.  I wouldn't do anything to hurt anyone.  I mean, you just do what you have to, right?"

     Several others began to leave, murmurs rising amongst them.  Padgett glanced back desperately toward the two of them.  Hutch just turned heel and walked off, but Starsky hung back, almost feeling sorry for his former colleague as the detective appealed to his waning audience.  "It's no big deal!  Guys, please. . ."

     But there was no one left to listen, except Starsky.  He shook his head slowly as Padgett looked back at him.  "You lost 'em, Larry.  And you got nobody to blame but yourself."

     And then he, too, left Larry Padgett standing alone in the hallway, and went to find his partner.

     Hutch stood at the squadroom door a long minute, watching those inside.  His colleagues, many also his friends – would that still be true after the whole mess with Padgett?  And then there was the only one he had no worries about, a dark head bent over a typewriter, laboriously typing with two fingers.

     There had to be some kind of telepathy between them.  Starsky suddenly turned to face him, waggling his eyebrows Groucho Marx style, then returned to his typing.

     Grinning and shaking his head, Hutch opened the door and went in.

     Nobody stopped and stared, except for the usual glances up to see who'd come in.  No one even frowned.  In fact, Simmons smiled and nodded as he passed Hutch.

     That was it?

     Still surprised, Hutch came over to perch on the corner of Starsky's desk.  His partner immediately propped an arm against his leg and leaned back to look at him.  "How'd it go?"

     Hutch loosened his tie.  "It didn't."

     Starsky swiveled around to see him in full.  "Huh?"

     "Padgett resigned this morning, so the trial board's been suspended.  They're looking into possible criminal prosecution now."

     "Huh."

     Hutch nearly smiled again.  Trust his partner for a brilliant summation of the issue.  He nodded fractionally toward the squadroom.  "Anybody mention it?"

     "Nope.  And they're not gonna.  Padgett showed his true colors yesterday, Hutch.  Nobody blames you for what y'had to do."

     Hutch raised his eyebrows.  "Yeah?"  The relief at that unexpected reprieve was more powerful than he'd expected.  Apparently, there was more honor left in the job than he'd thought.

     Starsky grinned at him, seeming to know exactly what he was mulling over.  "Yeah.  So, you ready to hit the streets?"

     "Not that again," Hutch grimaced.  "And what about your paperwork?"

     A shrug.  "Dobey can't make me do it if I'm not here.  I'm hungry – you wanna stop somewhere for lunch?"  Starsky scrolled the paper out of the typewriter and stood, reaching for his jacket.

     "You're always hungry," Hutch shot back, then ruined the remonstration by adding, "How 'bout we hit the bakery down the street?  I can get a muffin and you can pick up some of those unhealthy jelly donuts."  As good as he was suddenly feeling, some celebration seemed to be in order.

     "Can't," Starsky said, shrugging into his jacket as he headed for the door.

     Hutch stood to join him, frowning.  "Why not?  You love those donuts."

     "Gave 'em up for Lent."  And Starsky flashed a smile at him before walking out the squadroom door.

     Hutch just closed his eyes and shook his head in resignation.


End file.
